of furthering his own views, had informed Mr. Shewell of her interviews and correspondence with the young artist. How she hated him for this mean betrayal! it would have been a pleasure, for the moment, to pour on him the scorn she felt; but her heart was made for gentler emotions than the desire of vengeance, and her thoughts were soon turned to plans how she might effect a reconciliation between her brother and her plighted lover. As it grew towards dusk, she rose, put on her cloak and hood, and bidding a negress, a faithful slave, attend her, went to the house of a friend where she had been accustomed, of late, to meet the youth to whom she had promised her hand. The interview of lovers should be sacred from the intrusion of those unconcerned. The world of hope and happiness, or of sadness and apprehension, that lies within their view, is invisible to other eyes. Hours passed cre the two parted; and then it was with lingering words of deep affection and promises of truth through all the changes and chances that might await them; promises-that, come what might their faith should be kept inviolate; and that no interference should prevent the fulfilment of their vows, when fortune removed the barrier that now interposed. They parted-to meet no more for long-long years; the boy-artist to his toils-as yet unrewarded by fame or gold-to his dreams of a bright future, and cheerful hopes destined to many a disappointment ere the goal was won; the maiden to her solitary, secluded cherishing of the one dear trust which alone gave life its value; to sorrow and strife and trial, which strengthen and purify faith in the loving heart. It was late before she reached home; and her steps had not been unwatched. The same ungenerous espial had followed her that evening as hitherto; her brother was informed of her visit, and interview with the youth he had forbidden her to see; and in his resentment at what he termed her daring disobedience, he resolved on measures that should subdue her spirit to submission. Elizabeth found herself next day a prisoner in her own apartment. None of the household were allowed to approach the room save the female slave before mentioned; and Mr. Shewell himself gave notice to his sister, that she would be allowed no freedom till she gave the pledge he required-never to hold intercourse with young West. She refused to give the promise, and bore the durance patiently. Elizabeth Shewell was the daughter of an English gentleman; and having been early left an orphan, was committed to the charge of a wealthy brother, who deemed himself the sole and rightful arbiter of her destiny, and had determined that she should make an advantageous match. Though not naturally an austere man, he possessed a resolution which nothing could bend; it never occurred to him that his gentle and yielding sister could offer opposition to his will, cspe cially in that wherein he most desired her submission; and when she did show symptoms of having a mind of her own on subjects involving the happiness of her future life-her resistance only strengthened his determination to control her decision. "What does a young girl know about marriage?" was his mental observation; and the conviction that she was incapable of wise judgment, justified, in his opinion, the severe measures he thought fit to adopt, that she might be made happy in spite of herself. The evil of imprudent and unequal marriages was sufficiently obvious to all who had any observation of life; it would be his own fault if he permitted a giddy girl to precipitate herself into ruin. Such, and similar were the reasons by which he quicted conscience, when the pale, sad face of his sister, would utter reproaches more keen than words could have con-veyed. Elizabeth was not inconsolable in her forced seclusion; for the faithful negress was the bearer of many a letter between the separated lovers; and the sadness of absence was cheered by the sweet assurances contained in those folded treasures, of which almost every day brought her another. She trusted and hoped on; for her fond and true heart felt itself strong to overcome all things. She kept, in her spirit's depths, the vow of Adriana"In war and peace-in sickness and in healthIn trouble, and danger, and distressThrough time and through eternity-I'll love thee." At this period the genius of the youthful painter was hardly known beyond his own neighborhood. It was not long, however, before the knowledge that artist power of no common order was hidden in the quaker lad whose poverty prevented its full developement-awakened the interest of a few liberal minded gentlemen in New York and Philadelphia. The productions on which young West had bestowed most labor were purchased by them; and these evidences of his great talent inspired them with a wish to aid him further. His industrious application to the art, to which his life had been consecrated with the prayers and blessings of his parents-enabled him in a few months to realize a sum sufficient, as he thought, for a foundation on which to begin the building of his fortunes; and by the advice and assistance of his patrons, he determined to go and prosecute his studies at Rome; Rome, that inspiration of the artist's soul-that shrine of all that is great and glorious in the world of reality or imagination! The spirit of our hero longed to bathe in that pure bright atmosphere-to rejoice in the creations of the genius of the past; but another impulse, not less fervent, impelled him; for on the success for which he would strive, depended the happiness of the one dear being, for whom he would have sacrificed every other hope and aspiration. Elizabeth shed tears of mingled joy and grief over the farewell letter of her betrothed. In it were portrayed his wishes, his aims, his plans; the warm coloring of youthful hope was shed over his vision of the future, and he claimed her promise of unchangeable love-the guiding star of his life-the reward of all his toils. How bright seemed the prospect; and how dimly were discerned the clouds and storms that might soon overshadow it! In the year 1760 West sailed for Leghorn, and thence proceeded to Rome, where he arrived in July. To his biography belongs the account of his reception and brilliant success; our business is with the maiden of his choice, who, though restored, on his departure, to freedom and society, lived only in the hope of reunion with him she loved so deeply, and in whose rising fortunes she rejoiced, because they brought nearer and nearer the day of their joyful meeting. Five years passed, and West was established in London. His fame was spread throughout Europe; sovereigns did honor to his genius; independence was secured; and his desire now was to return to his native country, and claim the hand of her who had remained faithful to him in every change of fortune. Letters from his American friends altered his purpose. They informed him that Mr. Shewell still opposed his marriage with his sister, and that she could not receive him at her home. A plan was proposed-somewhat romantic, but suited to the exigencies of the case, which had met with the young lady's approbation. The artist's father was to take Miss Shewell under his protection, and cross the ocean to bring the bride to her husband. This scheme was highly pleasing to the lover, who wished to save his betrothed the pain and mortification a struggle with the will of so near a relative would occasion; and he wrote to his friends to signify his glad assent and to urge her immediate departure. To Elizabeth also he wrote, describing the life to which he should introduce her, and the impatience and anxiety with which he should await her arrival. All a lover's fond hopes and blissful expectations were poured out in his letters, and earnestly he besought her to hasten the hour when their long separation should be ended. The course of their true love, which had run not over smooth, hitherto, was destined to another interruption. One of the letters, by some unfortunate miscarriage, fell into the wrong hands, and the whole plan of her flight was discovered by her brother. There is reason to believe he forgot the tenderness due his sister, in his resentment at what he termed her obstinate disobedience and duplicity towards him. Forgetful that past harshness had justly forfeited her confidence, and that he had no good reasons to offer for a refusal to sanction her heart's choice; he aimed to conquer as before-by violent measures. Once more the fair girl was condemned to the solitude of her own apartment; her sole companion being the female slave who had always attended her. The injustice with which she was treated roused the spirit of Elizabeth, whose nature was yielding in matters of trifling import, but firm as adamant where principle was concerned. Her love for the artist had become a religion to her; her heart reposed on the faith of the chosen one; the world beside him was nothing, and her duty to him was felt to be paramount. Her resolution was taken. The negress, in the confidence of her young mistress, was the bearer of letters between her and the devoted friends of West, who had at first concerted the plan of her going to him. These friends were Francis, afterwards Judge Hopkinson, Benjamin Franklin, and William White, afterwards Bishop of Pennsylvania. The particulars of Miss Shewell's escape were communicated by the Bishop himself to a descendant of the brother, whose permission the writer has obtained to relate them. It was not long before a plan was matured, and communicated to the young lady, who approved it and promised her co-operation. It was past midnight, and a vessel at the dock was in readiness to set sail for England in less than an hour. The preparations had been completed before dusk, and passages engaged for the elder West, and a lady who was to be brought on board late that night. At that period the custom was to retire to rest at an early hour. The deep silence that reigned through the city was unbroken by voice or footstep; and the lights had long been extinguished in Mr. Shewell's house, as four or five men, wrapped in cloaks, passed cautiously along the street opposite, crossed directly in front of the mansion, and stopped, looking up as if they expected a signal from one of the upper windows. All was quiet, and dark; the faint light of the lamps scarcely serving to dissipate the gloom, in which it was hardly possible to recognize the features of each other. They had waited but a few minutes when a window above was softly raised, and the outline of a figure might be dimly discerned bending from it, as if seeking to discover who stood below. One of the party threw up a rope, which was caught, a rope ladder was drawn up, and after the lapse of a short time lowered again. Those below pulled at it forcibly, to ascertain that it was securely fastened; and then one ascended to the apartment into which the window opened, and gave his assistance in fastening the ladder more firmly. It was now the moment for summoning all her energies; and Elizabeth stepped upon the ladder, aided by her companion; the negress having been dismissed at the usual hour for retiring, for her mistress was too generous to involve her in difliculty by making her a party to her elopement. The descent was accomplished in safety, and the trembling girl was received in the arms of those who awaited her, so overcome with fear that she was near fainting, and unable to articulate a reply to the anxious inquiries of her friends. One terror possessed her With the bright morning came thoughts more pleasant; and the kind assiduity of Mr. West, who strove to cheer her, and pointed out to her admiring observation the many brilliant and beautiful things to be seen in a voyage-was not unrewarded. She ceased to weep, and the sunny smiles that animated her face in conversation with him whom she already regarded as a father showed a soul susceptible to all that was beautiful in nature, and all that was lovely and amiable in social life. The voyage was a tedious one, the vessel being delayed by storms and contrary winds. She arrived safely, at length, in the harbor of Liverpool. Many people were on the wharf, and there was no little commotion-for the arrival of a ship was not then so common a thing as now, and the people were cager to hear the news from the colonies, between which and the mother country discontents had already arisen to an alarming height. -the dread that her brother would be awakened by the noise, and intercept them before her escape could be accomplished. She made eager signals that they should be gone; and, supported by two of the party, walked forward as rapidly as possible. Her strength might not have held out for a long walk, weakened as she was by alarm and anxiety; but a carriage was in waiting at the corner of the next street. Before they reached this, a noise of hasty footsteps startled them ; and the party hurried with their prize into the shadow of a narrow alley. The beating of the poor girl's heart might have been heard, as they stood thus concealed; and her apprehensions almost darkened into despair as the irregular footsteps approached. It was only some late wanderers returning home, perchance after a revel unusually prolonged, and unwonted in that city of orderly habits. When the sound of footsteps ceased, the maiden was borne rather than led along by her friends to the carriage, and placed securely within it. One by one they fol- Amidst the scene of confusion-the shouting lowed her, and the carriage was driven fast to the and running to and fro, one pressed forward wharf where the vessel lay, in readiness to weigh eagerly, making his way through the crowd to anchor. The elder West-the father of Benjamin, the edge of the pier, and was one of the first to came to receive them, and to welcome his future spring on board of the vessel as she touched the daughter-in-law. The weeping girl was conwharf. It was the painter, West. His father, ducted to the cabin, and in silent sympathy with whom he had not seen for eight years, had perher feelings, natural in a situation so new and ceived him, and with an exclamation of joy on his embarrassing, the friends stood round her. The lips started forward to greet him. The son, ship's crew were busy on deck; and in half an unable to speak, waved him aside with his hand, hour all was ready to set sail. The signal was and gasped the single word-" Elizabeth ?" while given for the departure of those who had escorted the eagerness of his pale face expressed the questhe fair passenger; they took a kind leave of her,|tioning more carnestly than language could have each speaking words of encouragement, and hope that the future might be all sunshine to one so trustful and so loving. A slight bustle overhead -a noise of cheering, and the vessel was in motion; the danger of discovery was over; Elizabeth breathed more freely, as the bark that bore her to her lover glided over the waters-but she wept still-tears, not of unmingled sorrow, but the natural vent of the conflicting emotions that oppressed her agitated bosom. She had quitted forever home and country; abandoned him who was nearest in blood; the friends of her childhood and youth; to enter on untried scenes; to encounter unknown trials; to meet the cold gaze of strangers, who might judge her harshly; perhaps the scorn of a hard and heartless world! Then came thoughts of the lover who waited for her, and she half reproached herself for having lingered over the sacrifices made for him. The moment of their meeting; the bliss that was to repay her for years of hope deferred; the bright and smiling future; it was a sweet anticipation of happiness—but her heart was chilled to think of the dark, cold ocean still rolling between them; the weeks that must pass before that happy moment arrived; the uncertainty that hung over it, and might dash the cup even from her lips. In the alternations of feeling caused by such reflections, she passed the rest of that sleepless night. done. The old quaker pointed towards the cabin-the young man rushed forward, and in an instant the long divided lovers were locked in each other's arms. The elder West had followed his son, and saw the embrace in which both forgot their long years of cruel separation. Again and again the young artist drew back to gaze on his beloved, and clasped her again to his full heart. "Hast thou no welcome, Benjamin, for thy old father?" at length asked the old man, who had stood quietly for some minutes, smiling at the joy he witnessed. "That I have, father!" cried the son; and a warm greeting was given to the venerable parent, who needed no apology for having been at first neglected. The happy party left the ship, and proceeded the same day to London. On the second day of September 1765, the wedding was solemnized in the church of St. Martin's-in-the-fields. The lovely young bride of that day felt that she had done right in sacrificing some natural scruples, that she might, in the face of the world, bestow her hand on him to whom her faith was pledged. The years that had flown since their parting had added a grace more purely intellectual to her girlish beauty, with a touching interest never imparted till sorrow has chastened the gay spirit of youth. As she stood at the altar, the meek light of truth upon her brow-her eyes downcast, or lifted at intervals, beaming with the gentle and loving expression habitual to them—all who saw her thought so beautiful a bride had never stood in that sacred place. And he, the young husband, looked and was worthy of the priceless gift. In London, Dr. Drummond, Archbishop of York, was the special patron of West. By him he was presented to the king as a young American of extraordinary genius. George III. received him with much kindness, and introduced him to the queen, with whom Mrs. West, "the beautiful American," as she was called at court, soon became a favorite. She was frequently sent for by her majesty to her private apartments; and the charm of her gentle loveliness, of her artless and winning manners and her cultivated mind, thus acknowledged, was owned through the circles of the proudest aristocracy in the world. The talk in the beau monde of London, was of the fair American, whose fresh and guileless nature, even more than her beauty, had produced a deep and wide sensation. Yet this universal admiration and homage, and the smile of fortune could not spoil so pure and child-like a spirit. Her letters written to friends at home, and still in the possession of the family, breathe only of happinessthe kindness of all she met, and in particular of 'our gracious Queen Charlotte." 66 The story of West's career is familiar to every reader. It will be remembered that the Royal Academy of Fine Arts was established through his instrumentality, and that he was honored by the king with favors the most liberal and munificent. The exhibition at the Academy of the first picture painted by West at the command of his majesty, established his reputation. In 1772 he was named historical painter to the king, and on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, was unanimously elected President of the Royal Academy. His wife had never cause to regret that she had given up her country for him, nor to mourn the disappointment of the bright hopes of her youth. When the artist was at the height of his fame, a portrait of his wife, painted by him, was sent by her across the Atlantic as a peace offering to the brother, who had never yet forgiven her elopement. But Mr. Shewell refused to look upon the picture; and till his death it was stowed away among the lumber, in a small room in the attic of the ancient family mansion. This closet was the play room of the grand-children; and one of them, a little girl adopted by Mr. Shewell, remembers having often beaten with her switch, in her saucy moods, the "naughty aunty," whose resemblance her grandfather could not bear to see. The sending of her picture was not the only attempt made by the affectionate, sister to win back the heart estranged from her. But her letters were unanswered; and after some years Mrs. West wrote only to her neice, the mother of the celebrated Leigh Hunt. Years have passed since then, and the memory of one who loved so much, is cherished with reverent affection in the hearts of her American kindred. |